The Silence
by featherandfern
Summary: Everybody knew the truth. No one searched for the lies.
1. Chapter 1

**1.**

I wouldn't have seen him return home had it not been for the fight with Mom. I've been home less than a day and am already biting back words that would hurt both of us. There is only so much I can take. Dad hasn't lived in this house for years but that doesn't make him any less of a inconvenience in her eyes. He has his faults but then don't we all.

The only breathing space I can find is the porch swing with the stars and the hot, damp breeze of an incoming storm for company. I hear the rumble of an engine and watch as yellow headlights shine onto the Miller's jacaranda, startling the tabby sleeping underneath as the car turns into Crescent Grove. There are eight houses crammed into this dead end street, homes filled with families who have lived here for generations, neighbours who have known me since the day I was born.

I track the car's movement subconsciously, a moth drawn to the light. It's only when it stops at number 14, I finally wake up.

The slam of the door shatters the quiet and echoes in my chest as the passenger gets out. I can't see clearly enough at first but it only takes a second for everything to align. There are some things you never forget. Things so etched into your soul that without them you would cease to exist as the person you are.

It's the way he stands in front of the house—head tilted down, hand rubbing the back of his neck. A gesture I know for what it really is, not nerves or fear, but shame. I know his eyes will not willingly focus on anything but the ground. I slowly recognise every hazy line of him. He's not changed since the last time I saw him a lifetime ago.

The years slip away to minutes and I feel like the heartbroken teenager I was on the day he was arrested. The boy who'd turned eighteen only a week earlier. The boy who knew me better than anyone else, who was everything to me.

A boy who killed my best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

I've been spying out of the front window since the U-Haul pulled up at the Platt's house. It's stood empty for six months since Mr Platt passed away and the loneliness is creeping out from the house and into the garden, weeds sprouting in its wake, dandelions clogging the edges of the sidewalk.

Mom heard from Sue Clearwater, founder of the town rumour mill and newspaper, that a daughter inherited the house. Stories go that she is a big-city lawyer who wants a taste of the quiet life, but no one has ever heard about her, or any other relatives, before. The gossip is in overdrive for our sleepy little town.

Mom nudges me out of the way so she can see. "Did you get a good look at anyone?"

"No. The family aren't here yet."

As the words leave my mouth, a shiny, black car pulls into the street and and rolls up onto the drive of number 14. The women who emerges is petite with dark, reddish hair twisted up on top of her head. She isn't wearing the severe suit I was expecting. Instead she's in denim overalls and a simple white t-shirt. The man who gets out of the driver side is tall and slim, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. His hair looks like it's turned golden in the sun, and when he flashes the woman a smile, Mom makes a humming sound. I give her a look but she laughs it off. "What? Am I not allowed to appreciate a good looking stranger?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should we check with Dad?" I smirk turning my attention back to the new arrivals. They are both attractive in a way that would make them the talk of the town, as if they weren't already.

"You can do. It might give him some incentive to be romantic." She's only half joking, confirmed by the tired sigh as she heads back into the kitchen. She and Dad are childhood sweethearts who settled into the marriage that was expected of them. I think she misses the boy she fell for when she was sixteen. Dad travels so much with his new job, they barely have time to say hi. I miss him too.

I can smell the spicy sweetness of Mom's apple and blackberry pie as she opens the kitchen door. It's my favorite and she hopes the new neighbors will like it as well. I hope she is making two because I don't like sharing.

I turn my attention back to the street. The woman stands with her hands on her hips, taking in her new surroundings. She points at the deep, red roses—dad's pride and joy—that line our garden boundary and smiles. It turns into a frown when she looks back at the overgrown jungle she's standing in but I imagine she is the kind of woman who takes great care of herself and her home. I can already imagine her returning the house back to it's former glory.

I'm so mesmerized by her that I almost don't see the final person emerge from the car. This time it's me who makes a noise.

"Mom," I hiss as quietly as possible. "You didn't say there was a boy." I don't get a response.

He gets out of the car and walks over to the others, a navy backpack slung over his shoulder. They're undoubtedly related. He's almost as tall as his dad but with his mom's coloring. Dark hair sticking this way and that, sporty looking but not pumped up the look some boys in this town aim for. I can't hear what they are saying but when his dad claps him on the back, his laugh travels across the street and through our open window, pulling a smile out of me.

I watch as he makes his way to the trunk of the car. He stops before the end of the drive, his eyes drawn to our house the same way his Mom's had been, but this time they are directed straight at me. I want to slide off the bench and disappear but instead I freeze, hoping I'll be mistaken for shadows. A smile quirks his lips and my cover is blown.

Before I can decide whether to go say hi or not he turns his back to me and opens the trunk, pulling out a box. I take the opportunity race through to the kitchen interrupting the thwack of Mom's knife as she slices into some red peppers. "You didn't say there was a boy?"

She quirks a dark eyebrow at me. "There's a boy?"

"Yes. A boy."

"I didn't hear about any children."

"Obviously Sue Clearwater's investigative skills aren't as good as they could be because there is definitely a boy."

"I'm presuming by your reaction he's not a young kid?"

I scowl at her and steal a slice of pepper to eat. "Nope."

She points the knife at me. "This is your senior year, Bella. No getting mixed up with boys."

"Give me a break, Mom." I roll my eyes and escape out of the back door before she can say anything else. I grab my bike from where it's leaning against the wall and head for the back gate to the path that runs through the woods. I've only one destination in mind—the gas station on Route 22 where Rose works for her dad. She won't be the only person in this town who will care about the new boy on Crescent Grove, but she's the only one I'm willing to let in on the secret for now.

...

Sweat sticks my t-shirt to my back as I push open the door of the gas station, the bell jangling overhead. Rose is sat at the till with her face two inches from a small fan that blows air hotter than high summer, looking miserable. Her face lights up when she sees me and she waves me over, ignoring the trucker stood in front of her trying to buy chips.

"What are you doing here?" she says around him. The trucker grunts something under his breath. With a fearlessness that I love, she sends a glare at the six foot, two hundred and fifty pound, bear of a man and then says to me, "I'll be one minute while I deal with this." Her blond curls are pulled back yet some have escaped around her face, giving the impression she's flustered in the heat, but she's can be as cold as ice when she wants to be.

It feels like one hundred degrees in here. I eye up the lemonade in the refrigerators, the condensation clinging to the bottles makes my mouth dry. I give in and pull open the door, standing in the blast of cool air for longer than I should. The town is drying out. It hasn't rained for months and the whole place is slowly turning crazy as a result. Farmers are losing crops and animals, shops are losing trade, concentrating at school is becoming impossible. The whole place is turning into a mirage with the sticky asphalt under your sneakers the only sense that it's real. People are losing their minds.

Rose finishes serving the man and jumps up, joining me by the open door. She grabs a bottle of pop for herself and presses it against her forehead, closing her eyes. "You're crazy riding over here. It's too hot to breathe."

"I had to," I say closing the door and making sure I have her full attention. "Guess what?"

"You're pregnant."

"No."

"You eloping with Tyler to get married?"

"No," I yell and try to smack her arm. She jumps back out of the way, causing some of her cherry cola to spill over the floor. 'Don't even mention his name to me."

"He's still not called?"

I scuff my sneaker in the sticky pop and try not to let my irritation with Tyler get under my skin. "Nope."

"His loss." She shrugs and gulps her drink. "So what's got you all buzzed?"

"The new people have moved into the Platt's."

"And?"

"There's a boy."

This gets her attention. Water isn't the only thing the town is lacking in. "Tell me more."

"That's all I know."

"Jesus, Bella, we need more details. What does he look like? How old is he? Where did he come from? Is he single?" Her laugh turns into a scowl as a patrol car pulls up to the pumps outside. Sheriff Newton waves her over. Rose ignores him. "He must be good looking if you've bothered to come all the way over here."

I couldn't get a close look but from where I was standing there was definitely a lot of positives, tall, dark … new. "I'll find out."

"You have too. Call me later and tell me everything." She waves her hands in a circle to emphasise her point. We both jump when a horn sounds outside. Newton is pressing it through his open window and he points at the fuel pump when we both look over.

"Alright, I'm coming," Rose yells and mutters curses under her breath. "Call me," she reminds me and then heads out into the heat to deal with our impatient Sheriff.

I'm fizzing with excitement as I ride home. I almost can't wait to get back to school on Monday.

It's about time this town had some new blood.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

My phone screen lights up again, the missed calls and messages building up. I've not replied to any since I arrived back home, even though I know Angie will be worrying. Our tiny apartment in the city isn't much but we made it a home while we both worked and studied. My trip home was long overdue but I wished now, more than anything, that I was sitting with her watching trashy tv with a takeout, oblivious to the ghost that's just walked back into my life.

I can't get the image of Edward out of my head.

Esme opened the door. I heard her cry as she wrapped her arms around him. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end. They stood in the doorway for a while in that embrace. I felt like an intruder watching but couldn't look away. I wondered if they were both crying.

Esme lived alone after enduring years of being the outcast in this town because of her son. It ate away at her and Carlisle, her husband. It broke his heart so much it stopped working one day when he was driving home from the car dealership. That was another wreck I was glad I'd not seen. I didn't go to the funeral. I couldn't bring myself to come back to the town which was poisoned by it's history. I did send Esme a card and some flowers. Not much compensation but she was always good to me.

I get on my hands and knees and pull out the old cardboard box from under the bed, dusting it off. I sit with in on my lap for a few minutes, feeling the rough edges and weight, knowing what I will find inside after all these years.

Despite this it's still a thump to my chest when I open the lid, and the back of my eyes start to burn. On top is the picture of me and Rose at the river. She's wearing a red bikini that sent the boys in this town wild. I'm in a white costume, my hair so wet it's almost black. Her arm is slung around my neck, and she's looking past the photographer, laughing. I can't remember what was so funny but I remember that day as clearly as if I was there . The heat, the sound of splashing in the river, the excitement that school was out and summer was here. The thrill of young love.

Three days later they found Rose's body in the woods.

I put the picture to the side and sort through the other memories; friendship bracelets we'd made from strawberry laces, sticky and covered with fluff; a pair of heart shaped sunglasses she'd left at my house one night; ticket stubs; handwritten notes about this boy and that. There were some missing but I couldn't bear to keep those with Edward's name on.

Under it all was a pile of news clippings, the investigation, the arrests, the trial. There was one clipping I found myself searching for. One I'd cried so hard over, I'd burst a blood vessel in my eye. It was a small snippet about his sentencing with a grainy picture in the top right corner. I didn't need a better resolution to know every detail about the image. It depicted Edward standing in court, hands clasped in front of him, head bowed as he was sent down for 12 years. He wore a smart, navy blue suit and white shirt. The same outfit he wore to take me to senior prom. The same outfit he wore when I fell head over heels for him. When I thought he was the one.

Mom calls me from downstairs. I swipe away the tears I've refused to shed for 8 years, shoving the picture to the bottom of the box and pushing it back under the bed with other forgotten things. I try to ignore the pull to the house across the road. I think about Rose. I hold her laugh in my heart and push Edward out.


End file.
